


And all because the odds just couldn't stand to be in their favor for one more day.

by djpayne



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djpayne/pseuds/djpayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What will happen when two boys from very different worlds are forced to compete in The Hunger Games? A look at their lives and relationship from The Reaping to the very end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reaping

**Liam**

Every single day Liam Payne went through the same mundane cycle. Get up, go to work, come home aching, eat a bite, go to bed, repeat. It was no way for an eighteen-year-old boy to live, but he had come to terms a long, long time ago with the fact that it would never change. It was go to work and lay brick for ten to twelve hours, or be punished for not being a 'contributing member of society.' Liam could actually remember a time when he was so sick he was sweating bullets and throwing up practically every half hour, yet his dad had given him the _'We all have to contribute, Liam; this district cannot function as it should if each citizen doesn't pull their own weight.'_

Needless to say, he had gone to work that day. 

Sometimes he wished he was a young boy again so that he didn't have to think about or even acknowledge all of this Capitol nonsense. His parents gave constant lectures about how while some of their methods might seem harsh, the Capitol really did have their best interests at heart. While Liam could admit that most people living in his district looked well fed and typically didn't suffer under the same harsh conditions as some of the other districts, he wouldn't call his life - or anyone else's that he knew, actually - a walk in the metaphorical park. Being a citizen of what was often called 'the pet district' didn't make him feel any better about himself, didn't make him sleep any better at night, and it sure as hell didn't exclude him from the yearly torture of standing there in the hot sun, just waiting for the names of some girl or boy he had known all of his life to be called. And it wasn't that he had sympathy for the majority of the tributes from his district; _most_ of them were eager, blood thirsty Careers who had spent most of their teenage years just hoping that their name would be called. 

What made Liam so sad was the fact that he could remember those boys and girls from school, remember a time when instead of murderous glints in their eyes and cruel smirks on their faces, they had been red faced, smiling children who didn't even have to _think_ about The Hunger Games except for that one day of the year when their big brother or sister might be called. When that didn't happen, they could return to their mundane lives. Boring, maybe, but safe. 

People would always ask Geoff and Karen Payne what had happened to their son, why he had chosen to go into brick laying instead of training to be a Career or volunteering to be a Peacekeeper. The answer was simple; Liam Payne was simply not cut from a cloth that would allow him to relish killing or hurting someone, no matter the reason, and certainly not for the sake of some _game_. Although the Paynes did support the Capitol, they were secretly glad that their son chose the route that he did. It meant that while he was often sneered at by other youth and sometimes even the adults of their district, he was safe. He didn't enter his name into the drawing any more than necessary, and for the past five years he had returned home on the day of The Reaping, so relieved that he _relished_ the idea of going to work the next day, even if he knew he would come home aching again.

Anything was better than being called. Anything.

Perhaps it was a bit forward of him to actually feel a sense of relief on the day of what would be his last Reaping, but he could just _feel_ it when he woke up that morning. He could feel that after today, he would be free. All of his friends were already over eighteen and no longer in danger of being chosen, his sisters were both in their early twenties, and after today he could go about his life without fear that The Hunger Games would ever touch him or anyone he was close to. Sure, there were families he knew with children who were either of age or close to being of age, but could he really be blamed for being a bit selfish and being happy that his core group of friends and family were no longer in that dangerous pool of possible tributes? 

The sun was shining brightly through his window, and he would be lying if he said the bird chirping in the tree outside wasn't getting on his nerves a little bit, but he finally relented to nature's alarm clock and rolled out of bed, a grunt escaping him at the sudden movement. While he was in relatively good shape from working - he sort of had to be, in his line of work - that didn't stop the muscle aches from seeping into his neck, back and shoulders. The previous work day had been brutal, and he was thankful that he had the day off. 

Sad that to get a day off, one possibly had to give up their life or commit to taking others' lives.

Normally, Liam would have done a quick wash up before getting into his work clothes, but today he relished the feel of the warm water, sitting in the tub for far longer than was necessary. For a split second it crossed his mind that there were people out there in Panem who didn't have the luxury of warm water, but he hardly had time to be sad about it because the next thing he knew, his mother's frantic voice was interrupting his thoughts.

"Liam, dear! You've only got ten minutes! We can't be late!" And boy, was she right. Being late to The Reaping was... well, Liam had seen the lash marks from a boy who _had_ made that mistake before, and he really didn't care to personally experience a repeat of that.

"Coming!" He called out, quickly finishing his bath before letting the water drain and wrapping a towel around his waist. A simple once over with a towel was enough for his hair; he had buzzed it off about six months ago, and what little had grown back would take no time at all to dry. To be sure he was prepared, he had laid out his clothes the night before: simple black slacks with a white button up shirt. It seemed to be what most boys wore to The Reaping, even in other districts. Of course, Liam's were in better shape than the worn and tattered clothing he had seen on the projection screen he'd watched past Reapings on, but honestly, the potential tributes could have been naked and it wouldn't have mattered. 

What really mattered was that somewhere among the sea of young men and women, someone was being sent to their death. 

Less than ten minutes later, Liam found himself in that very sea of young faces. The Careers were grouped together and looked a eager, a stark comparison to everybody else. Some were stoic, some were crying and hysterical, some were looking for their brothers and sisters, some were young first timers who looked as though they didn't know their right from their left. Liam could remember his own first time like it was yesterday. The terror, the dread, then the amazing relief when he was released to go home and spend the rest of the day crying in his room because he had known the young boy that had been sent to his death that morning. 

The sharp, stinging feeling of the pin pricking his index finger brought him back to reality. Once he was released from the sign in table, he quickly found his friend Andy, a dirty blonde boy who was several inches taller than Liam and had the quickest wit Liam had ever seen. Of course, today he was stone faced, paler than usual, and looking around the crowd. It wasn't difficult to guess who he was searching for. 

"Sarah will be alright, buddy," he said, putting what he hoped was a comforting hand on Andy's back while he assured him for the third year in a row that his girlfriend wasn't going to be chosen. "Her name's barely in there at all, right? Neither are ours. So let's just get passed this and then it'll be over. We're all turning nineteen before the next Games. We'll get through this, and we'll be fine."

Liam always did that; he was always the one to comfort others, even if he himself was screaming inside. And he was. Not for himself, because he honestly didn't feel like he was going to be chosen, and Liam was a boy with good instincts that rarely - if ever - proved him wrong. He was worried because there was always a chance that a Career wasn't going to be chosen, that instead it would be some little girl or boy who wouldn't last a day in the arena. While one might think that a Career would volunteer, Liam had come to the conclusion that it brought them even more joy to see some poor soul who didn't _want_ to go being forced into it, and that made him hate them more than he already did.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a grating, annoying female voice boomed from the loud speaker, and it was then that Liam found himself tuning everything out. He'd seen it again and again, would see it a thousand more times when his family tuned into The Hunger Games at home. He knew the speech, had the film memorized, could even describe the physical characteristics and name the fallen tributes and victors that were shown in the Capital's messed up idea of an inspirational film. There was no point in listening as the announcer, whose name Liam had never cared to learn and didn't particually feel like doing so now, droned on and on. 

He payed a bit of attention as the girl was chosen first, relief washing over him when the tall and thin, yet muscular and obviously in shape girl headed towards the stage. Her name was Katie, she was seventeen as well, and she had been waiting for this moment from the first time someone had put a weapon in her hands. Liam could remember her from school; her blonde hair had always been in pigtails, and she had cried for a week when her puppy died when she was six. Now she was practically bursting at the seams to take another human life. 

Nostalgia and sadness made him close his eyes, again tuning out the announcer as he willed this whole thing to just be _over_. What brought him out of his stupor was a nudge to his side, and it was then that he opened his eyes to a horrified looking Andy, who had taken a step or two away from him. The boy standing to his right, who Liam recognized but honestly couldn't name, had done the same.

For another second or two, Liam was confused as to what was going on, but then he heard that nails-on-a-chalkboard voice yet again. 

"Liam Payne?" Her unnaturally violet eyes zeroed in on him, as did everyone else's. "Ah, there you are dear!" Her voice and demeanor were too bright, too shiny, and while it certainly didn't help, Liam was relatively positive that that wasn't what was making him sick to his stomach. "Come on up." She beamed down at him, holding out her ridiculously manicured hand to will him up on stage.

Liam's mind was racing a mile a minute. What? _How_? This couldn't be real. His name wasn't in the drawing anywhere near as much as most of the people standing around him. He'd gone all these years without being called! What made today any different? How was fate so cruel that on the day that should have been the last time he'd ever have to worry about The Hunger Games, he was being sent to be slaughtered? Because while he might be able to hold his own in a physical fight, sure, he was in no way prepared to fight to the death.

He considered standing there and pouting and saying no like a stubborn child, or turning around and running away. But there were too many people, way too many Peacekeepers. He wouldn't make it ten feet.

So he did literally the only thing he could; he walked forward, heading towards the stage and willing the tears in his eyes _not_ to fall. Of course, with cameras zooming in on his face, he knew that soon enough, every single citizen of Panem would see how desperately he was trying to stay calm. He felt like there was something clutching at his chest, and breathing normally wasn't even an option anymore. Katie was smirking at him, and Liam had no doubt in his mind that he had just become number one on her list of targets. He wasn't going to let the fact that he was technically bigger and stronger lull him into a false sense of security, not when he knew how ruthless Careers were.

The people in the crowd all blurred together. Liam felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest; he felt numb and completely out of touch with reality, his brain scrambling to keep up with what what had just happened. 

There was no doubt in his mind. He wouldn't be alive for much longer. This time next week he would join the long list of fallen tributes, and it was all because the odds just couldn't be in his favor for _one more day_.

 

**Zayn**

Sometimes it still amazed Zayn Malik just how _gray_ his surroundings were. The houses that he was sure had been pristine white at some point in their existence were gray, the ground where grass probably used to grow was gray. Sometimes it was even like the air itself was gray, hanging in thick blankets around him and making it hard to breathe. Of course, when nearly every step you took sent a cloud of coal dust into the air, it wasn't hard to see why everything was dull and dusty and bland. 

Then again, Zayn couldn't really afford to worry about the lack of color in his life or the fact that District Twelve wasn't exactly pretty to look at. There were too many more pressing things nagging, nagging, nagging their way into his brain. Where his family's next meal was going to come from and if it would be enough to eat was usually what occupied his mind, which is exactly why he hadn't signed up to work in the mines. 

Like most other things in his life, he couldn't _afford_ to.

Since his father had passed away, someone had to provide for the family, and it wasn't a macho case of Zayn being the only male that made him do it. His mother was ill and hadn't been able to work for the past several years, not that she was in any mental condition to do so anyway. Zayn always said that when his father had died, most of Patricia Malik had died with him. That wasn't to say that she wasn't a good mother, of course. She was. More often than not, she gave up her share of food to Zayn and his younger sisters. Zayn usually gave up at least half of his share to them, as well. Even so, they were both stick thin and although he knew they tried to keep from doing so, they couldn't exactly help that their mouths watered at the sight of food. His did, too.

Zayn wasn't a particularly talented hunter; he was far too clumsy to be any good, and he wasn't particularly talented with any weapons either. But he did have skill with setting traps. So early every morning he would sneak away, sneak through the supposedly electric fence, set a few traps, then return home to help his mother or go to the market to see what he could scrounge up. Normally he didn't score any impressive bounty from the traps scattered around the woods, just small animals and a few birds on occasion, but if it helped to fill his family's stomachs, he wasn't going to complain. 

On a normal day, he would get up and sneak off to set his traps, but today he afforded himself an extra hour of sleep. Besides, it was too risky to be roaming about the woods on Reaping day. 

The sky was gray and the weather bleak, which was rather fitting considering what he would be walking into in less than an hour. Oddly enough, Zayn wasn't too worried about it. Neither of his sisters were old enough to be chosen, and okay, so maybe his name was in there over fifty times due to his family's desperate need of food, but he wasn't worried for himself either. Maybe he was just too tired, too desensitized to the whole thing. After all, if he was chosen, he wasn't going to last very long anyway, and if he was dead, he wouldn't have to worry anymore, right?

Right, but it was still a selfish thought. So selfish, in fact, that he mentally scolded himself before sitting up and getting out of bed.

Having known that he wasn't going to be doing anything that morning, he had washed up the night before and set his clothes aside. The tattered pants had been his father's and were far too big for him; the equally tattered and stained white shirt wasn't any better, but he hardly had it in him to care. No one was going to be focusing on his clothing. 

One glass of water and small bowl of slightly dry oatmeal later saw Zayn making his way to The Reaping. He was one of the ones on camera that never flinched, never even looked as though he was paying attention to what was going on. Of course, the Games had never directly affected him. None of his family, none of his friends, no one he even associated with had ever been chosen, and that it made much easier to sort of push the Games aside into a sort of _it could never happen to him_ category. 

Foolish, maybe, but it made him feel safe.

Zayn wasn't particularly close to anyone. He had a few people he might consider friends, but there was no one in the crowd of young faces that he could honestly say he was worried about. So he stood there, hands in his pants pockets and holding back an eye roll as Effie Trinkett's heels clicked onto the stage. Same speech as usual, same film as usual, same ridiculous clothes and hair and make up as usual. He felt like he could recite the entire thing, could actually get up there and do it himself if need be. 

Show the film, spout some bullshit about the Capitol, pick a girl, pick a boy, done. Easy as that.

What he was most worried about was the fact that after this was over, he was going to have to somehow scrounge up something for his family to eat for dinner. He would have to skip lunch himself because there definitely wasn't enough in the house for all four of them to have a meal, but he needed to find _something_ to eat later. He was skin and bones as things were, and while he wasn't to the point of starvation, skipping two meals in a row wasn't going to do him any good.

 _Maybe I can sneak far enough into the woods to fish for a bit_ , he thought.

A crying girl was lead to the stage. Zayn hadn't caught her name, but he thought it might have started with a P, and he vaguely recognized her from seeing her around. She couldn't have been more than thirteen years old, and looking at her was the first time that Reaping that he actually felt something. He felt _sorry_ for her. She wouldn't last a day.

"Now for the boys!" Effie's bright voice rang through the crowd, her lime green painted fingers reaching into the glass bowl a second time to snatch up a white piece of paper. "And here we have Zayn Malik! Did I say that right, dear? Bit of an odd name you've got there!" She was all smiles as she spoke, like she was announcing the winner of a sports match instead of the next unlucky teenager to be sent to their death.

Now, a normal person would have looked shocked, maybe even cried a little, or been scared out of their wits. Zayn just stared straight ahead, thinking bitterly that someone named _Effie Trinkett_ had just said he had a 'bit of an odd name.' It wasn't until she held her hand out that he realized he was supposed to go up there, something he should have known by now since he had seen more Reapings than he really cared to think about. 

The older kids weren't looking at him, the younger kids were gaping at him as young kids do, and Zayn was thanking his lucky stars that his youngest sister had woken up sick that morning. Otherwise his mother and both of his sisters would be in the crowd instead of at home. While some might think it would be a comfort to have them there, it really wouldn't have been. Instead Zayn was just thankful that the last time they had seen him had ended with hugs and kisses on the cheek instead of sobbing. Again, perhaps it was a bit selfish of Zayn to think that way, but he had heard somewhere that the best goodbyes were no goodbyes. Especially when, in this case, 'goodbye' would be final.

"We have a good looking bunch this year, don't we?" Effie boomed, bringing Zayn out of his thoughts. There was nothing he could do about the glare he sent her way. 

If by 'good looking bunch' she meant a terrified little girl who hadn't stopped crying since her name was called and a scrawny boy with bags under his eyes and the resolution that he was pretty much already dead, then yes. They had a good looking bunch.


	2. The Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short, and I apologize for that! I just felt it was necessary to establish the characters' mindsets and their relationship (or lack thereof) with their fellow tributes from their district.
> 
> I also promise that there will be some main character interaction in chapter three! :)

**Liam**

It had taken less than five minutes for Liam to be whisked from the stage and to the train that would take him to the Capitol, a Peacekeeper keeping a firm grip on his arm. He trailed behind Katie and the Peacekeeper leading her, staring straight ahead the whole time. For some reason he couldn't even begin to explain, it made him feel better to focus on the back of Katie's blonde head instead of the citizens standing around them. Some were somber, some were excited for the Games to begin. Either way, he didn't want to see the looks on their faces or try to figure out what they were thinking. _That poor boy_ or _he won't last a day_ or _it should have been me, if I was in that arena I would gut him like a fish_ or whatever thoughts were going through their heads didn't interest him at all. 

At least he had managed to stop anymore tears from coming. 

Although it was barbaric and cruel in some ways, Liam was actually glad that the tributes were no longer allowed to say goodbye to their families. He couldn't remember the exact details, but he could remember being told about some fiasco years ago where someone had managed to sneak in a weapon to their family member, resulting in at least two Peacekeepers' deaths. Like all things that happened in Panem, every single person was punished for the bad judgement of two or three. 

It wasn't fair, but Liam honestly didn't think he could handle his mother's tears right now, and perhaps it was sick of him to think so, but he had the sneaking suspicion that his father would actually be _proud_ of him. 

But proud of what? Proud that Liam had one unlucky day and that he would never be coming home again?

"Up." A harsh voice broke through his thoughts. He had sort of been walking on autopilot for the past couple of minutes, mindlessly falling in step behind his female counterpart, and it didn't dawn him that he had come to the bottom of the stairs leading onto the train. Another second's hesitation earned him a rather harsh nudge in the side from the man dressed in white next to him, and it was then that he finally made his foot leave the ground, climbing onto the train.

It was only when the doors whooshed shut behind him and the sounds of the outside world were silenced by what he could only guess were sound proof walls that he really allowed himself to take in his surroundings. 

Homes and buildings in District Two were relatively nice and always well built considering that's what the majority of its citizens did for a living, but he had never seen anything quite this lush. Expensive hardwood furniture and equally expensive fabrics and _so much to look at_ that again, he sort of zoned out. For a second he actually had the ridiculous thought that he should probably take his shoes off before walking across the white carpet. His shoes certainly weren't new and probably a little muddy on the bottom and... oh, who was he kidding? These people probably had access to some miracle cleaner that would get rid of stains in two seconds flat.

The woman who had announced their names at The Reaping stepped into the room at that point, accompanied by the sound of clicking heels down the hallway and then another quiet _whoosh_ as the door slid shut behind her. The two Peacekeepers that had led them onto the train stayed in the room, but they stayed to the side, ready to spring into action incase the tributes got unruly. Or that was what Liam guessed, anyway.

"You're welcome to sit down, dears." She said, her voice bell like and completely out of place considering the fact that she knew she only had a week with these two children before she would either never see them again, or would know that they had slaughtered twenty-three other children just like themselves in order to still be alive.

It was the first time that Liam had really paid close attention to what this woman looked like, and the first word that came to mind was _ridiculous_. 

She appeared to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties, and was at least six inches shorter than Liam. Her eyes were violet, her lips painted to match, and her hair was a shade of blue that sort of reminded Liam of the ocean. Or pictures he had seen of the ocean, anyway. While she wasn't heavy by any stretch of the imagination, she wasn't toned like Katie or skinny like the girls Liam knew who genuinely didn't get enough to eat. Her dress was a stark white, heels a blue that matched her hair so perfectly that Liam was almost positive it had been done on purpose, and she had more jewelry on than Liam had ever even seen in his life. In fact, the most jewelry he had seen was the small wedding band his mother wore and the bracelet his sister had gotten for her birthday one year. Those two things put together probably weren't worth as much as one link of the chain on this woman's ridiculous looking gold necklace. 

"Sit, sit," she urged when they didn't comply the first time, ushering them over to two plush, dark red chairs. Katie was the first to obey, Liam following her hesitantly. Although he knew she posed no real threat, he didn't keep his eyes off of the woman the entire time.

"As you probably know already, I have the privilege of being your escort for the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games! Why don't we start by introducing ourselves? My name is Katherine Merlot."

Katie's blue eyes lit up at that, and Liam was left to do nothing but sit back and watch as his female counterpart pointed out that they had the same name. After five minutes of watching the two women talk to each other, it became pretty obvious that this was going to be a game of favorites. And Liam wasn't the favorite. Not that he wanted to be. If it was up him, he would just sink back into the chair and become invisible.

"And you, dear?" 

While Katherine looked considerably less excited to be talking to him, Liam still thought she was too bright, too shiny. Too everything that just wasn't right in this situation. And anyway, didn't she know his name? _She_ was the one who had picked it out of that stupid glass bowl. Then again, he supposed she was just trying to make casual conversation.

"Liam."

She stared at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to continue and spout off detail after detail after detail about himself. When he didn't do that, she prodded further.

"And how old are you, Liam?"

"Eighteen," he answered, voice at a deadpan, which really wasn't like him at all. Normally he spoke with compassion, conviction, an exited lilt in his tone at all the right places. Could he really be blamed for not being excited to be where he was at, though?

"Ah, aren't you lucky?" Katherine's eyes lit up, and her hand reached out to pat Liam's knee, something that made him squirm a bit in his seat. "You've almost gotten too old!"

Liam wanted to scoff at that, to ask her just how dumb one person could possibly be, but then it dawned on him: Katherine was used to dealing with Careers. The tributes she normally dealt with were raring and ready to go. He bet she had never had the opportunity to deal with a boy who didn't want to be there.

"So, what are your special skills? You both look good and strong. I'm sure you'll have no problem killing off-"

Liam wasn't about to let her finish that sentence. "Is it alright if I go to the bathroom?" 

His question, as well as the interruption, obviously shocked her a bit, and for a second or two she looked stricken that he didn't want to sit there and talk with her about how lucky he was to be there and how he looked like he could kill with ease, but she quickly relented and gave him a nod. "Down the hall and to the left, my dear. If you get to the dining room, you've gone too far."

Liam couldn't get out of his seat fast enough. Heading down the hall, he quickly found the overly decorated bathroom and let out the tears he'd been trying so desperately to hold in before.

 

**Zayn**

Silence. Other than the occasional sob from the little girl in queue behind him and the shuffling of their feet on the pavement, silence was all Zayn could hear as he was herded towards the train. Of course nerves were setting in by this point, but he remained stone faced, ignoring the almost painfully tight grip on his arm. He couldn't help looking around, though, taking in the faces of the few citizens of District Twelve who dared to meet his gaze. 

No one wished him good luck. Why would they? No one from District Twelve had won the Games in decades; they had never even come close, in fact, and Zayn wasn't exactly an optimist when it came to their chances this year.

He followed Effie and the others onto the train, having to blink several times to adjust to the lighting. Everything was so _white_. It was a shock to his system to be thrust into a place so bright after having spent the last seventeen years in a place so very dim, and again he wanted to scoff at the fact that this stupid train was brighter than the outdoors where he lived. It wasn't a case of self pity or shame about where he came from. It was a simple case of being bitter, angry that the air in what should be a stuffy train car was brighter and cleaner than anything he'd ever breathed in.

The whole room was white, so white that it almost looked clinical. Not that Zayn had ever personally seen the inside of a hospital that nice, but he had seen them on the news when the Capitol showed one of their films about the rebellion, showing interviews with survivors who had claimed to have spent weeks or even months in the hospital because of what the 'savages' had done to them. Zayn would venture a guess that if anyone from the Capitol happened to get a look at him, they would put him in that category. Somehow he really, really didn't have it in him to care.

Zayn was brought back to reality by the feeling of a small, somewhat clammy hand grasping his, and he looked down to see the little girl who had been picked at The Reaping. To be honest, he had sort of forgotten about her, and he instantly felt guilty about that once he noticed how distraught she still was. _Well, of course she's distraught, you idiot_ , he thought. What little girl wouldn't be? She had stopped sobbing, but a few stray tears continued to fall, adding to the tear tracks that were already marking her face.

"Hey," he said in as comforting a tone as he could manage, kneeling down so he was on her eye level. He didn't dare let go of her hand either; when one of his little sisters was upset, physical contact was just about the only thing that would make them feel even the slightest bit better.

Zayn might seem cold. He might look like he didn't care about anything or anyone, including himself at times, but the truth was that he had one weakness: his sisters. And this girl, with her black hair and dark eyes and tear tracks, reminded him of them.

"It'll be alright." That was a lie, but what was he supposed to say? "What's your name?"

"P-Penelope," she stuttered out, her grip on Zayn's hand tightening a bit. It didn't bother him, though. If clinging on to him would make her more comfortable for the time being, then that was alright with him. Hell, if she wanted to punch him in the face to make herself feel better, he would probably let her. Anything to get that terrified look out of her eyes. 

"How sweet!" The voice came from behind them, and oddly enough, the tone wasn't condescending or cruel. No, Effie Trinket was standing behind them with a smile plastered on her face, sounding absolutely delighted at what she saw. "I love it when you get along! One year we practically had to keep a young man and woman caged for fear that they were going to kill each other. Dreadful trip, really."

All Zayn could do was look at her, trying to fathom how in the world anyone could get their hair that shade of purple. Oh, he's seen the crazy fashions and styles over the projection screen when a new video came in from the Capitol, but he had never seen anything like it this up close. Not only did he wonder how she did it, he wondered why she would _want_ to.

"Now don't be shy! Have a seat!" She pointed a thin finger towards the large white couch on the other side of the room. "We'll get you something to eat in a few minutes, but until then, why don't you take a seat and finish your chat? I've got some business to attend to."

While Zayn was glad she was leaving, he couldn't help being bitter and thinking, _Of course she's not going to stick around; she knows we're as good as dead._ Still, he was much more comfortable talking to Penelope without the annoying woman with her annoying clothes and equally annoying voice hanging around.

"C'mon," he urged, using the same soft tone he did with his sisters when he was trying to talk them into doing something they didn't want to do. "Let's go sit down. Might as well rest on the way there, right?" 

_Now if I could only figure out a way to die in my sleep._ But no. From the second he had looked into Penelope's terrified eyes, he had vowed that he would protect her. Of course, the logical part of him realized that that was pointless. Even if he did manage to protect her, if he died doing so, she wouldn't last very long at all beyond that. What was the point?

The point _was_ that he had a scared little girl beside him, and even if he was skin and bones, even if he had no particular skill with weapons, even if he had decided the second his name was called that he might as well hang it up and kill himself now, he couldn't leave that little girl by herself.

For the rest of the train ride, Zayn and Penelope chatted a bit, revealing what their families were like and what they hoped the Capitol would provide them to eat. Not once did they mention the fact that the foods they hoped they would get would be one of their last meals, and Zayn considered it a personal victory when he actually had the little girl _smiling_ as he recounted the story of how he'd once been attacked by a squirrel who had gotten caught in one of his traps. 

A half an hour into their train ride, there was still no sign of food or Effie or... anything, really. And although it should have worried him or made him angry, Zayn was glad they were by themselves because Penelope had managed to fall asleep, her head pillowed on his chest, and if anyone dared wake her up, he was pretty sure he'd have to punch them. Because if she was asleep, she couldn't worry. And if she couldn't worry, Zayn wouldn't have to see that desperate look in her eyes that made him feel like he was going to puke up his insides because he couldn't do anything about it.

In the end he decided it was best if he tried to sleep, too, and it wasn't long at all after his eyes closed that he was out, head resting on the back cushion of a couch that was more comfortable than any pillow he had ever owned in his life.


	3. Introductions

**Liam**

Was this train ride ever going to end? After forcing himself to choke down some food after his little episode in the bathroom, he had quickly made his way into a small, secluded room at the back of the train and decided to wait it out there. It wasn't that the food hadn't been good; honestly, it had been the most amazing thing Liam had ever put into his mouth, but his stomach was in knots and his nerves so out of control that nothing tasted as good as it should have. 

Besides, he didn't want to sit there and listen to his fellow tribute and the blue haired lady discuss killing stategies. After hearing _go for the young ones first_ , Liam was one hundred percent done with that conversation. He wouldn't kill a little kid. He refused.

What felt like hours later, he finally felt them come to a stop. The idea of facing anyone, much less someone from the Capitol who he was sure was going to look at him as nothing more than a piece in their stupid game, sounded like torture right about now, but he knew it was either come peacefully or be dragged out by heavily armed Peacekeepers. Katherine was already looking for him, obvious by the way her eyes lit up when he finally came back into the main sitting room. Katie was sitting across from the older woman, a cup of what looked like hot chocolate in her hands and the very same smirk on her face that she had given him when he had first been called up on stage.

So okay, maybe he wouldn't feel _too_ terrible about killing her, if he was actually able to...

He shook his head, willing that thought to leave his brain. No. He was going to do one of two things: somehow win by steering clear of and outsmarting the other tributes _or_ (and more likely) he was going to be tracked down and offed by the Careers first thing. Liam knew that physically, he posed a threat. He was tall, strong, and he knew his way around a weapon if need be. The one thing he lacked was being vicious enough to combine those three things together and put them to use against another tribute, and the Careers more than likely weren't going to give him a chance to gather up the courage to do that. 

"Liam, darling!" He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that; he didn't want this woman calling him dear or darling or sweetie or any of the other stupid pet names she'd given him so far. "We've arrived! You're in for quite the treat, young man. Katie here was just telling me you've never been to the Capitol before."

No, he certainly hadn't, and when he really thought about it, it wasn't a surprise that Katie _had_. Her family consisted of suck ups like her, citizens of District Two that longed to either be a part of Capitol culture or kill for its entertainment. 

"Never really had the urge to," he replied, sending Katie a blank look before looking back up at their stunned escort.

Katherine scoffed, waving a dismissive hand in Liam's direction. "Silly boy, who in their right mind wouldn't want to visit the Capitol?"

Liam didn't answer. He didn't even nod or shrug. Instead he simply waited, waited for her to tell him what to do or, better yet, for both of them to burst into flames. Fortunately, it was the former that happened first.

"Well then. Let me give you a quick run down of what's on your agenda today! Then you'll be free to go." 

Free. What a sick joke. Instead of making his disgust known, he took a seat at the other end of the table, far enough away from Katie and Katherine that they looked at him oddly for a few seconds before the elder willed herself to continue. 

"As you probably know from watching past Games, the tribute parade is a thing of the past. Too many uncertainties, far too dangerous," she droned, as if this was something they should know. Katie nodded intently; Liam didn't look as though he was paying attention at all. "Instead you'll be moved straight into your rooms. Girls on the lower floors, boys on the upper. As you may know, in past Games your living arrangements would have been determined by district, but President Snow brought up a very good point a couple of years ago. Bonding between tributes of the same district is counterproductive to the outcome of the Games, and we can't have that, now can we?" A cheery smile, and then she continued. "You'll be allowed a bath and a change of clothing, then they'll whisk you away to what I assure you will be the grandest dinner you've ever had the pleasure of eating. Today is mostly leisure, to give you all a chance to recover from your long journeys. Tomorrow morning you'll have training, then a break in the afternoon, then you'll go to the training room again to be scored. They'll want to see how fast you are and what you can do with various weapons. I suggest," she said, her eyes zeroing in on Liam, "that you get comfortable with a weapon in your hands, my dear boy. You won't last very long in the arena without one."

Liam gaped at her. Wasn't she supposed to be on his side? It wasn't anywhere near as much of a surprise when Katie barked out a laugh, causing Liam to turn his attention towards her for a brief moment. In that moment he _hated_ her, and he rethought what he'd decided earlier. If there was one person he was going to off, if only for the sake of removing the threat from other tributes, it was going to be her.

"Now, now," Katherine scolded lightly, standing up in her chair and urging them to do the same. "I'm afraid this is goodbye for now. I will be escorting you to your interviews the day after tomorrow, but until then."

Liam wasn't given the chance to ask _until then what_? Two Peacekeepers, both taller and broader than he was, were already grabbing him by the arms and pulling him out of the room, down the hall, and towards the exit. As soon as the doors were opened, the sound of cheers and an overly bright light invaded his senses. Luckily he didn't have to deal with it for very long. They were being herded into a building that looked like a much, much nicer version of some of the more wealthy families' houses that he knew, with several more stories added to the top of it. When they finally stopped walking, Peacekeepers letting go of his arms, Liam found himself in a circular room with marble floors, statues all around of what he could only guess were either prominent Capitol politicians or maybe victors of past Games. It didn't really matter, though; what really mattered was the fact that once the Peacekeepers stepped back and the people milling about the lobby were shooed away, Liam found himself staring at twenty-three other children just like himself.

The tributes from District One were obvious. They were both tall, fit, and blonde, standing there looking overly confident and taking in the other tributes as though they were trying to figure out which they wanted to pick off first. Most of the tributes ranged somewhere in the middle, probably somewhere from fourteen to sixteen, and there were four others (besides the Careers, of course) that looked to be about his age. He felt his heart start to beat faster when he noticed how many _young_ children there were. Two boys and three girls that couldn't possibly be any older than twelve or thirteen. 

His eyes settled on the little girl directly across from him. She was _so small_ and thin, and it was obvious she had been crying. Her tiny hand clutched onto a bigger one, their skin the same dark tone that Liam had to admit he had never seen in person. The boy, one of the tributes who appeared closer to Liam's age, looked... well, he looked like he hadn't seen a decent meal in days, even though Liam knew he had probably gotten plenty to eat on the train ride over. He was too thin, his clothes hung off of him, they looked to be slightly dirty, and his black hair hung limply on his forehead. It wasn't really his physical appearance that had drawn Liam to stare at him, though; what drew him in was the fact that he was holding the little girl's hand, a sign of compassion that no one else standing around the circle of tributes was displaying.

Of course, when he finally let his attention drift upwards, he realized that that compassion was meant for one person and one person only. Because the overly thin boy was _glaring_ at him, his eyes fixed into slits. For a second Liam was shocked, but then he realized that he couldn't exactly blame the boy. He knew what he looked like, slightly muscular and enough meat on his bones to make it clear that his family didn't hurt for food. If Liam was as thin and frail looking as the black haired boy standing across from him, he would probably hate every well fed person he saw, too.

"Welcome!" A deep voice boomed from the balcony above, and twenty-four heads turned to look in that direction. There stood President Snow, white hair and beard perfectly styled, black suit immaculate. Liam hated him already. Not that he thought he was an outstanding guy before, but looking at him now? He loathed him.

"I welcome you to the Capitol of Panem, and I look forward to seeing how each of you perform. Now, my assistant will lead you to your rooms. There you will wash up and change. Dinner will be served shortly." With that he was off, and Liam was left wondering what kind of welcome that was supposed to be. Welcome, take a bath, enjoy your dinner before you die? 

President Snow's assistant turned out to be a young woman, relatively normal looking for someone who lived in the Capitol. Her hair was jet black and hung down to the middle of her back, her legs long and half concealed by a pencil skirt, and if Liam had been in any position at all to think someone attractive, he might have looked at her a bit longer. Then again, he could say the same for the male tribute from District One, and he _definitely_ wasn't going to go there. There wasn't enough time to even think about dating or deciding whether he preferred boys or girls, much less to focus on one specifically.

Several more instructions later - follow me, turn this way, girls to the left, boys to the right - and Liam found himself walking with eleven other boys, down a long hallway with bright blue carpet and bright red walls. It was a ridiculous color scheme and equally ridiculous structure, but he was hardly in the mind set to worry about the way his surroundings looked. The black haired boy who had been glaring at him earlier was walking a few steps ahead of him, and Liam found himself staring from behind this time, marvelling at how thin he was. He had to be from Twelve. The dark hair, relatively dark skin, tattered clothes and tiny structure? It was either Twelve or Eleven, and Liam found himself feeling sorry for the boy. Unless he had some insane talent with a particular weapon, which Liam doubted considering people in those districts didn't have access to such things, this boy probably wasn't going to last any longer than the twelve year olds.

In the end, the male tributes - and he guessed the female tributes were the same way - ended up being roomed together by age. Liam was last to be put into a room, accompanied by the boy who had caught his interest from the start. They wouldn't actually sleep in the same room - too risky, President Snow's secretary had explained, incase one tribute decided to off another in their sleep - but they did share a sitting room and a bathroom. 

"And remember," the secretary, who had never even given them her name as far as Liam recalled, "there are always eyes watching. Any funny business and you'll be punished severely." With that, she stepped back into the hallway, leaving Liam and the dark haired boy standing in the sitting room, neither looking at each other for the time being. 

Liam took that opportunity to take in his surroundings: hard wood floors, two couches, four chairs, a large screen mounted on one wall, a large shelf filled with more books than he had ever seen in his life. Like he was going to be doing much reading in the next week.

"You're welcome to the bath first," Liam found himself saying, eyes hesitantly wandering up to look at the other boy. Up close, he really was unlike anything Liam had ever seen; his appearance might be rugged and somewhat unkempt, but his skin was smooth and his eyes a brown that bordered on hazel, sparkling with something that Liam couldn't exactly place. Fear? Hatred? A combination of the two? His eyelashes were the longest Liam had ever seen on a boy (or most girls, to be honest) and if he hadn't known better already, he would have suspected that it was some sort of Capitol cosmetic trick. 

"Don't smell good enough for you, then?" The harshness with which the boy spoke was alarming, and Liam actually took a small step back.

"What? N-no, I was just..."

"Look, I know your type. I've seen the films. Don't try and be nice or get close to me so you can off me first thing. Because let me tell you something. _You_ ," he said, pointing a finger at Liam, "are first to go when I get ahold of you. Now get out of my way." 

Liam watched in shock as the boy brushed past him, towards the open door that revealed a large tub and a strange looking contraption hanging over it. Of course, Liam didn't have time to figure out what that was as the door was slammed in his face before he could think twice about it.

He wondered if the cameras had caught _that_.

 

**Zayn**

 

The rest of his and Penelope's train ride was uneventful. She slept a little while longer, he dozed, woke up long enough to watch as the strange scenery passed by, then dozed off again. Effie came in to check on them once or twice, but it was pretty obvious by her absence that she had better things to do. _Good_ , he thought. He really didn't want to deal with her anyway. He was pretty sure the only reason she was even bothering with that much was because she would be in some serious trouble if something happened to the tributes under her care. 

He really didn't know how much time had passed, but at some point Effie stuck her ridiculous purple head back in, announcing that they could come and eat if they wished. Zayn was stubborn enough to refuse the food, but just like with his sisters, he couldn't make himself say no to Penelope when her mouth watered at the promise of a meal. So he had trudged into the dining car after her, sitting beside her at the stupidly and unecessarily long table and eying what she ate carefully, all the while willing his stomach to shut up and stop rumbling. He'd gone longer without food, and he'd done just fine. 

Most of his attention was focused on Penelope, on making sure she didn't get hysterical and burst into tears again. He didn't pay attention to how long they had been on the train; all he knew was that at some point, around two hours after Penelope had eaten and a few minutes after she had revealed that she'd like it better if he called her Penny, the train came to a stop. The almost blissful calm was once again interrupted by chaos, Peacekeepers grabbing both of them and dragging them out into the overwhelming brightness of the Capitol. He didn't pay a bit of attention to anything surrounding him, not the ridiculous looking people or the impressive structures or the inevitable looks of shock he got from people who had never seen somebody as thin as him before. No, all he cared about was Penny, who had once again started crying and whose eyes were darting desperately behind her, trying to find him.

So when they were finally inside, _finally_ away from all of the cheering and the jeering and the shouting, Zayn didn't hesitate to wrap his fingers around hers once again. 

So this was it, huh? This was the group of people he would be facing? One of these kids would be the one to end his life. He was putting his money on one of the older ones. Blondie One or Blondie Two were the ones he was putting his bets on. Maybe Blondie Three, or maybe the boy she was standing beside who had apparently already picked Zayn out himself. That was the only reasonable explanation for why the brown haired boy was staring at him, wasn't it? Wasn't that what this ridiculous little meeting - or whatever it was - was for? So they could size each other up, see who they were going up against? 

Whatever the reason, Zayn didn't like it. If looks could kill, the stupid kid would be laying in a pool of his own blood right about now. 

He gave Penny's hand a small squeeze, tuning out President Snow's sad little welcome speech. The next time he really found himself paying attention was when the dark skinned woman who had apparently taken over the welcoming commitee revealed that the boys were going to be separated from the girls. Inside he felt somewhat frantic, but he had learned a long time ago how to school his face into the very picture of nonchalance. If he started to worry, Penny would worry. And that was his main goal in life right now: keep Penny calm.

"It's alright," he assured her, not as quietly as he would have liked to since the little girl was being pulled away from him by Peacekeepers. "You'll be alright, just do what they say!" He said over the crowd. Perhaps it wasn't the best advice in the world, but it was all he could think of. Besides, he knew for a fact that no harm would come to her that day. No one was allowed to harm anybody else, and it made him feel just a tiny bit better when he noticed that there were a few other younger girls heading off in the same direction as Penny. Of course, that relief was short lived; those little girls weren't going to fair much better than Penny, in the end.

Several moments and one long hallway later, Zayn realized that he was going to have to share his living quarters with the same stupid doe eyed boy that had been gaping at him before. Great. Just great. Maybe the kid didn't look like a Career considering he wasn't chomping at the bit to kill - or he didn't seem like he was, anyway - but that didn't mean anything. Without even speaking a word to him, Zayn had already come to the conclusion that this was an act on the other boy's part, an act to gain his trust so he could eliminate him at the very beginning.

Zayn wasn't exaggerating when he said he didn't trust anyone but his mom and sisters.

_You're welcome to the bath first_. 

Of course the first thing that came to Zayn's mind was that the boy was insulting him. This boy with his stupid fancy clothes and his stupid styled hair and his stupid muscles was standing there telling him that he smelled bad, and _then_ trying to turn it around and make it seem like he was just trying to be nice? 

Needless to say, the look on the boy's face when he stomped off after threatening him was priceless. Zayn knew good and well that there was no way he would ever be able to get his hands on that boy, much less off him like he had promised, but threatening him when he couldn't retaliate made him feel better. 

Washing off sounded even more appealing, and he briefly (and a bit stupidly) wondered where the water was supposed to come from when he noticed a tap. He'd heard of these, seen these on the projection screen a time or two, but he had never seen how one worked. He didn't pay a bit of attention to the 'H' and the 'C' labels on either of the knobs, and he was met with quite the shock when ice cold water rained from above, soaking the left shoulder and sleeve of his shirt. Well, that was _odd_. 

It took him entirely too long to piece together how to work the tap, but when he finally did, he stepped into the already steaming flow of water. He'd never had a bath this warm, and he had certainly never experienced a shower before. It was so relaxing, felt so good that he momentarily forgot where he was or what he was there for. The shower seemed a little less special once he snapped back to reality. So he quickly washed his body and hair with some strange smelling (but in a good way) citrus soap, carefully turned off the shower so he wouldn't either scald or freeze himself, then stepped out onto the bright orange mat laying on the white tiled floor. An orange towel was hanging within reaching distance, so he grabbed it and dried off his body first, towel dried his hair as thoroughly as possible, then realized he had made the mistake of not bothering to figure out what clothes he was supposed to put on.

With a heavy sigh, he wrapped the towel around his waist and cracked the door open, briefly considering yelling at the bonehead outside to get him his clothes, whatever they were. But he had far too much pride for that, so he stepped outside and back into the sitting room, still dripping a bit. 

The boy he had already decided he hated was sitting on one of the couches, a thick book in his hand that he was absentmindedly flipping through. There was no way he was reading that that fast! 

Instead of asking him or yelling at him or telling him the shower was free, Zayn stomped to the room he had been told would be his for the next week. By a Capitol citizen's standards it was small, but it was bigger than Zayn's bedroom, his sisters' bedrooms, and their entire living room put together. On his bed was a pair of black pants and a black shirt with a red 12 circled on the back and smaller versions of that on each sleeve. Zayn stared at it a minute before he decided that it wasn't going to disappear and turn into something else, heaving another heavy sigh. A pair of black underwear was laying there as well, and he removed the towel to slip those on before putting on the rest of the ensemble. Black socks a black pair of shoes completed the outfit, and for a second Zayn had to wonder how in the world everything fit so perfectly. Then again, who knew how the Capitol knew the things it did?

When he got back into the sitting area, the boy was gone. The bathroom door being shut told him that he was taking his turn at the shower, so Zayn took it upon himself to be nosy. He examined the books on the shelves, then turned on the projection screen. 

Of course they were showing each district's Reaping. What else would they be showing? Zayn frowned and took a seat on the nearest couch, not really wanting to watch but also unable to make himself stop. District One was first, of course, and he watched with disgust as the two blonde Careers from earlier - Samuel and Camille, apparently - smiled and strutted onto the stage as though they had just won a pageant. The female tribute from District Two - Katie - was the same, but Zayn was at a loss for words when he found himself face to face with the boy - Liam - who was currently washing up in the next room. Of course, he was on screen and five times bigger than he was in real life, but that wasn't what Zayn noticed. 

What he noticed were the tears. It was obvious that Liam was trying to hide them, but they were leaking out of the corners of his eyes all the same. Why the hell did he feel guilty? Zayn didn't feel guilty unless it was something pertaining to his sisters - or Penny now, apparently - but as he stared at the sad brown eyes on the screen before him, he felt guilty for snapping at the boy earlier. Liam was just as scared as Zayn was; he just wasn't as good at hiding it.

Zayn didn't hear the sound of the door opening, nor did he hear the footsteps behind him as the other boy approached. 

"It's sick that they show that over and over, isn't it?"

Zayn nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Liam's deep voice, eyes wide as he twisted his body around to look at the other boy. Same black outfit, only with a 2 on each sleeve, and he would venture to say the back had a giant 2 on it, brown eyes looking into Zayn's. In that moment, Zayn no longer saw him as a Career who wanted to trick him into trusting him. A Career wouldn't cry when their name was chosen. A Career wouldn't be looking at him with what could only be described as puppy eyes or biting his bottom lip nervously, as if expecting Zayn to yell at him or threaten him again. In that moment, Zayn was pretty sure that the muscle and the extra height didn't matter. 

Neither of those things made Liam stronger than him, because when it all came down to it, the brown haired boy was scared out of his wits.

"Yeah, well," he began, trying to regain his composure. He might feel sorry for the guy, but he wasn't about to run up and hug him or anything quite that drastic. "The whole thing is sick."

Liam nodded, looking thoughtful for a second before he stuck his hand out. "I'm Liam."

_Duh_ , Zayn wanted to say, _you just saw them announce your name with me sitting here watching._ However, he made himself not do that, getting up from his spot on the couch instead and walking around to shake the other boy's hand. Liam's hand was bigger, stronger and warmer than his, and Zayn wasn't comfortable enough to let the touch linger before pulling his hand away. 

"Zayn."

Liam seemed a bit surprised at that, eyebrows raising as though he had never heard the name before. Zayn guessed he probably hadn't. "That's a cool name. I like it."

Whatever was happening here, Zayn was relatively sure that Liam wasn't supposed to smile at him like that. It was a smile that lit up his whole face, made his eyes crinkle at the sides and gave Liam the appearance of being younger than he actually was. Zayn stared at him for a second or two before giving him a smaller, much less enthusiastic smile of his own. It was still a smile, though, and if he was being completely honest, Zayn couldn't even remember the last time someone had pulled one out of him.


	4. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit short and mostly filler, but I enjoyed writing it so here it is! Also, it might be awhile before I get to the next chapter of this story since I have another story I've started work on, but I haven't given it up completely!

**Liam**

Liam sat on one end of the couch, Zayn on the other, both of their eyes glued to the large screen in front of them. They still had a bit of time before dinner, but since they weren't allowed out of their rooms, there wasn't anything _to_ do besides finish watching each district's Reaping. Seeing all of the small children being herded onto the stage, eyes wide and faces pale with tears running down their cheeks, made Liam sick to his stomach. He hadn't exactly been hungry before since he'd indulged himself on the train, but seeing that sort of fear and desperation in the eyes of people so young made him lose any appetite he may have had. 

He was endlessly fascinated when they got to Eleven and Twelve, not able to imagine living somewhere so dark and depressing. District Two wasn't exactly a dream, but there were at least massive buildings and billboards and enough of a bustle going on around the city to make it seem a little more tolerable than it actually was, to distract the mind from the fact that all most people did was work, work, work.

"Is that where you live?" He asked quietly, frowning as they showed scenery - if it could really be called scenery - from District Twelve. It was so... bare. At The Reaping, there were people all around but no substantial buildings. Then again, why would they need buildings when all of their work was done underground?

The look Zayn gave him in response almost made Liam wince.

"I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. I'm not trying to be offensive. I just... I've never seen anything like it."

Zayn hummed in response, a sound that came from low in his throat, and it was then that Liam noticed he wasn't paying a bit of attention to the screen. Not that Liam could blame him. He hadn't been thrilled to watch himself a few moments ago, and he knew that Zayn had some sort of bond with the little girl who had been chosen from Twelve. It couldn't be easy watching her cry her way onto the stage either.

It was then that Liam took pity on the boy beside him, grabbing for the controller and flipping the screen off. The room was dead quiet all of the sudden, but silence was better than the alternative. He knew he could flip through a thousand channels and they would all be showing the same exact thing. They always were when it came time for the Games.

"I'm sorry. You know, that this happened to you and..." He paused, realizing he had no idea what that little girl's name was.

"Penny," Zayn supplied, as if he was reading Liam's mind. The look on his face had softened considerably since Liam had turned the screen off, his dumb and slightly offensive question from earlier seemingly forgotten. Or so he thought.

"Penny," Liam repeated, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and averting his eyes from the other boy's; honestly, he'd forgotten where he was going with that the second their eyes met.

"Do you realize how insane this is?" This time Zayn's tone was slightly harsher, and Liam decided at that point that the boy next to him must be emotionally unstable. He'd gone from downright hostile, to pleasant, to looking as though he wanted to throttle Liam for something he'd said, to looking at him as though he was the nicest person on Earth, and now he was back to his less-than-pleasant self. 

Liam looked at him, stunned. "What do you mean?" 

Of course he knew this was insane. The whole concept of the Games in general was insane, but he was betting that that wasn't what Zayn was referring to.

"We're not going to be _friends_ , Liam. We _can't be_ friends. You can't be nice to me and tell me you're sorry because you know what? In a week's time, it's kill or be killed. I don't stand a chance in hell, and I know that. The only thing I'm worried about is that little girl because she can't defend herself. I'll fucking stand in front of her and let somebody shoot me through the eyes with an arrow or chop me up with an axe before I willingly let them hurt her. But this?" He paused to make a wild motion with his hand between Liam and himself. "This can't happen. You don't deserve to be here either, I'm not saying you do, and I'm not saying that if things weren't different and we were meeting under different circumstances that I wouldn't want to know you. What I'm saying is that I don't trust you, and you shouldn't trust me. Because if that countdown ends and we find each other in the arena before anybody else does? One of us is dead. Do you understand that?"

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? 

The only response he had at first was a blink and then a blank expression. It wasn't that he had been expecting them to become friends. They'd known each other for such a short period of time that even Liam realized it was absurd to think that they had some kind of bond just because they had had a minute or two of understanding. 

That didn't make his heart sink any less at Zayn's words, though. Liam knew he was right, but what the other boy had said was just driving the fact home that Liam had literally _no one_ now. No one to talk to, no one to lie to him and tell him that everything would be okay, no one to distract him from the fact that he was practically dead where he sat. 

"Okay," he said softly, not sure what else to say. That dreaded burning feeling was bubbling up in his chest again, the one that told him he was about to embarrass himself if he didn't get out of there as soon as possible. He would not cry in front of Zayn. He _wouldn't_ , he refused. He didn't want the other boy to think he was crying because he didn't want to be friends, when he was really crying because how alone he really was had just hit him, and he didn't know how to deal with that.

He stood up from his spot on the couch, ready to go spend the next however long until they were called to dinner in his bedroom, but something kept him there. The bubbling in his chest wasn't just unspilled tears, it was words that he felt he needed to say, words that spilled out of him before he even had the chance to think about stopping them.

"You're wrong, though. You wanna know why? Because I'm not killing anybody that doesn't deserve it. If I can get my hands on One's tributes or even Katie, I'll kill them in a second. But you or any one of those other kids? I can't _do_ it. I won't do it. I'm not letting this thing turn me into some monster. So you don't wanna be friends, that's fine. You don't wanna talk, that's fine. But I just want you to know that if we do find each other first in that arena? You'll win. I can't..." He paused, thinking that he just needed to catch his breath since he was relatively positive he had just said all of that in one breath, but it was then that the tears started falling. He wasn't outright sobbing, but there was still no way he could hide them, no matter how much he may want to. He knew he must look odd, muscular and obviously physically strong but standing there and crying like a baby while Zayn sat there and stared at him, stone faced. 

"I'm sorry," he breathed out, taking a second to wipe his eyes before he continued. He was embarrassed, yes, but he'd already started and Zayn had already seen him break down - twice now, if the Reaping counted - so there was no reason for him not to finish what he started.

"It's different where I'm from, Zayn. People don't give you sorry looks and say goodbye because they know they're never gonna see you again. They wish you luck and tell you to go for the young ones first. Katie has already mapped out how she's going to kill people, and I... I just want it to be over. And it's not because I'm scared to die, it's because I have to wait to die knowing that no one cares if I do. My parents... I can see my dad now. He'll watch and cheer me on. He'll want me to kill a twelve year old. And when I do die, he won't be sad. He'll be embarrassed because his boy wasn't strong enough to win."

A few more tears had escaped from the corners of his eyes, but after the initial break down, he had stopped himself from letting it get worse. Zayn was just sitting there looking at him as though he was an animal that might go crazy and pounce at any second, and it was only after another several seconds of awkward silence that Liam nodded, his eyes sad as though he understood what Zayn was trying to say by saying nothing at all.

"I'll get out of your way then," he said quietly, defeated as he trudged towards his bedroom, shoulders hunched. He wasn't one to throw a hissy fit and slam the door, so he quietly shut it behind him and took a seat on the navy blue comforter that covered the king sized bed. He didn't bother laying down; there was no way he could sleep right now. He didn't bother turning on the smaller projection screen in his room either, because he knew that they would just be showing coverage and talking about the tributes and debating how good they were or weren't, and he really couldn't deal with that right now. 

Instead he stayed put, staring blankly out the window. It was starting to get dark outside, but since they were on the top floor, he couldn't see the droves of people milling about on the streets below. All he could see were the bright lights of nearby buildings, the neon signs and screens outside casting odd shapes and shadows on the wall. He had completely zoned out, and it could have been minutes or even hours for all he knew, but he did know at some point he might have heard a faint knock, followed by a creaking sound and the slightly heavier sound of footsteps.

It was Zayn, standing there with an expression on his face that Liam couldn't really decipher. He didn't look angry, but he wasn't exactly stone faced the way he had been throughout much of the time they had known each other.

"What do you want?" It wasn't harsh at all. Liam just sounded tired, and considering the emotional roller coaster he'd gone through in the span of the last day, he supposed he had every right to.

Liam didn't know what he was expecting as an answer, but he definitely wasn't expecting the reluctant apology that slipped from the raven haired boy's lips. 

 

**Zayn**

Zayn watched as Liam retreated back into his bedroom, so many emotions running through him that he didn't even know where to start. Most of all, though, he just felt guilty, like he had kicked a puppy and then sent him on his way. Part of Zayn still thought he was right, that he had every right to deny Liam whatever sort of friendship or companionship that he was apparently searching for. Because no matter what happened in the next week, both of them weren't going to make it through this, and Zayn refused to form unnecessary attachments. Or so he told himself. 

But listening to Liam talk, watching the tears slide down his cheeks and seeing the desperation there, he realized that he couldn't do it. Liam made it sound like he didn't have anyone in the world that cared about him, and Zayn was starting to realize that maybe he didn't. Just because he was well fed and physically okay didn't mean that he didn't have other problems, just like just because Zayn was underfed didn't mean his entire life was miserable. He loved his mom and his sisters, and he knew that they wouldn't be disappointed in him or embarrassed that he didn't win. They would cry, they would be sad, they would do what a so-called normal family would do if they lost one of their own. 

Stubbornness won out for a few more minutes, and Zayn stayed put on the couch. What would be worse? Would it be worse to live with Liam for the next week and have to ignore him knowing that the other boy was miserable while the guilt ate away at him for contributing to that, or would it be easier to give in and just talk to him and hope they didn't end up meeting face to face in the arena?

With a heavy sigh, Zayn decided on the latter. 

Liam didn't answer when he knocked on the door, but Zayn had already willed himself up and was far too stubborn to back down now. So he opened the door and crept into the other boy's bedroom, frowning when he saw Liam sitting there on the bed. The brown haired boy was wringing his hands, his eyes wide when he looked up. It was obvious that he was terrified, and it left Zayn wondering if maybe there wasn't something wrong with _him_. After all, wasn't Liam's reaction the more normal one? Shouldn't he _care_ or be scared or be angry or _something_ rather than the indifference he felt?

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I didn't realize..." He rolled his eyes at himself. Zayn didn't stutter, he didn't get nervous, and he certainly didn't let doe eyed boys sitting there giving him puppy eyes make him forget how to form a coherent sentence. To give himself a second or two to regain his composure and figure out what he wanted to say, he took a few steps forward and then motioned to the bed, nodding in his head in a silent, ' _Can I?_ ' When Liam nodded, Zayn took a seat next to him, leaving enough space so they weren't touching but not enough to make it seem like he didn't want to be there and was just doing this because he felt guilty.

He could tell himself all day that that was the only reason he was in Liam's room right now, but he also knew he couldn't fool himself for long.

"You have to understand something, Liam. I'm used to people like you looking down on me. I mean, you... you're built like a freaking Peacekeeper and could probably be one if you wanted to, but you're standing there telling me you'll let me kill you? That's... I don't know how to take that. When I first saw you I was sure you belonged with the Careers and were just looking at me because you'd already decided I would be easy to pick off..." He trailed off when he noticed the faint tinge of pink on Liam's cheeks, his brow furrowing when the boy from District Two shook his head and started speaking in that rushed, nervous manner of his.

"No, I wasn't, Zayn. I swear, that wasn't it at all. I just thought it odd that you were holding that little girl's hand and then I decided that you were probably the most decent one of the bunch because nobody else was offering to comfort one of the younger ones."

Zayn nodded, and he guessed it sort of made sense why Liam had thought from the beginning that it would be a good idea to talk to him. "I guess we're both guilty of snap judgements then, huh?" He asked with a small grin, which Liam mirrored hesitantly. "I thought you were a Career because the way you looked and you thought I was nice." He could almost tell that Liam was about to interject and say that he was nice, but he kept talking before the other boy could make a sound. "Penny reminds me of my little sisters, I guess. She was crying and I felt guilty and I guess it just gave me something to do besides sit there and think about... you know."

Liam nodded, and Zayn took that to meant that he understood. Apparently his words had soothed Liam somewhat because he no longer looked frantic or scared, and his hands had moved to rest in his lap instead of going a mile a minute the way they had been a moment ago.

"I could help you, you know." Liam's words were quiet, hesitant, and Zayn honestly had no idea what the other boy meant.

"Help me what?"

"Help you protect Penny when we get in there."

_What?_ Zayn was stunned, and judging by the way Liam nearly winced at his reaction, he knew he probably looked angry. His mother had always told him he tended to turn every emotion, no matter what it was, into anger. It wasn't something he did on purpose, and he honestly wasn't angry right now. He was just shocked, not to mention a bit in awe at the fact that Liam actually looked _serious_.

"Liam, I can't ask you to do that. You just stood out there and told me you weren't going to kill anybody, but now you're saying you'll kill people to protect someone you don't even know? That doesn't even make any sense." 

Liam frowned, and Zayn had to wonder if the brown haired boy was coming to the conclusion that Zayn was right. If Liam was going to make good on his promise to help protect Penny, he was going to have to kill someone. Because the Careers weren't going to be the only ones coming after her; Zayn had seen it time and time again watching past Games. Normal, hesitant, scared teenagers were often turned into monsters in the arena, driven by the will to survive, and he couldn't promise that he wouldn't be the same way because he honestly had no idea how - or if - the arena would mess with his head like that. And he couldn't say for sure that Liam wouldn't decide that he was wrong all along and that he had a chance, that he wouldn't turn on Zayn or Penny or whoever he was trying to protect at first because he realized that maybe he did have a shot. 

Zayn shook his head, bringing himself out of his thoughts and all the what-ifs, his attention briefly turning to the large window across from them before returning to Liam again. "I can't ask you to do that." He repeated, shaking his head again for emphasis, as though that combined with his insistance would be enough to make Liam listen.

"But you aren't asking, I'm offering," Liam pointed out, looking at him with those big brown eyes that Zayn found himself both loving and hating at the same time, because he had come to realize that he couldn't say no to them. They were so damn vulnerable and sincere all the time, and despite his promise to himself a long time ago that he was never going to do anything just to make another person happy, he found himself wanting to make this boy happy, to make him feel better.

However, he was still reluctant to say yes because he knew the second he did, there was no taking it back. Liam wouldn't _let_ him take it back. But he couldn't let Liam think that he was alone in this; he had seen the defeated look in Liam's eyes before, and he didn't want to see that again. The twisted part was, they both knew they were going to die. They knew that in order to protect this little girl, they were going to die, but like Liam, having a purpose did make Zayn feel a bit better about it, a bit less bitter because in a way he was defying the Capitol. And Liam really was considering Penny wasn't even from his district. 

"Say we do this," Zayn began, trying to ignore the way Liam's eyes lit up at the prospect that he might actually be giving in. "What would we do? I mean, we don't know where they're going to place us for the countdown, and we don't know who we'll have to face in order to get to each other or Penny."

Liam shook his head. "Easy. It doesn't really matter where you are because you can always run back, right? No one else is going to do that. They're all going to go for the... I forgot the word, but the stuff in the middle, you know? So you and Penny just run the other way. I'll see what I can get us and then I'll come find you."

He made it sound so very, very simple. Zayn and Penny would get out of harm's way, Liam would grab them a few things, then they would be set. Only Zayn knew it wasn't going to work like that. It would never be that easy because nothing in the Games was ever _easy_ , but again, he couldn't bring himself to be responsible for the spark in Liam's eyes going out.

This was such a bad, bad, _bad_ idea, but he just couldn't make himself say no. Not again. So after a moment of deliberation that he honestly didn't need because he had made his mind up the second he had seen that hopeful look in Liam's eyes, he finally relented.

"Alright. Let's do it."

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I would like to say that I realize I have more than likely strayed a bit (or a lot, in some cases!) from The Hunger Games canon. That being said, I have also written this as having taken place in an AU world where Katniss, Peeta, or the rebellion never happened because while I am a huge fan of the whole series in general, I absolutely love the first book and its concept the most. I obviously give full credit to Susan Collins for forming the idea and the world in which these characters live and these events take place.
> 
> I have gone ahead and rated/tagged it as I see fit for later chapters! So don't be confused when you read the first chapter and think, "Well, that's not violent at all!" 
> 
> I realize that this is also more of a disclaimer and me rambling than a summary, but I'm okay with that if you are. :)


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